


Hell from Above, Hell from Below

by dramady, jeck



Series: Hell from Above, Hell from Below [1]
Category: Boondock Saints (Movies), Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 08:42:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramady/pseuds/dramady, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeck/pseuds/jeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Boston on a lead, Derek Reese stops into McGinty's; talk about a fish out of water.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell from Above, Hell from Below

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: Old love meets new love. :)  
> Disclaimer: Not ours; please don't sue.

McGinty's was as rowdy as usual, even if it wasn't very crowded. The usuals who'd drunk like fishes and were mouthing off at the top of their lungs. Nothing new.

Connor and Murph were in the middle of it all, shouting and shoving and drinking and there wasn't anywhere Connor would rather be. Good men, all.

When the door opened, the whole of the bar turned to watch the man come in. Easy to size up and quick; guy'd been through some heavy shit, maybe military? Connor looked at Murph and his brother looked back at him, then they all watched the man come in and take a seat at a table no one ever sat at. It stayed quiet.

It wasn't as if Derek had never been to a bar where people looked at you different. Or any place for that matter. He was used to being observed, stared at, questioned. Though he knew it wasn't his build that caused these, but more his demeanor, his stance and probably the haunted look that never quite left his eyes. He'd seen too much, experienced too much that it had been a part now of his very being.

Once Derek was seated he looked around casually (to the untrained eye), scoping out each person, noting where each table, chair, bottle of booze was, then exits and doors before he gestured for a drink.

Everyone's heads swiveled, first to look at Connor and Murph, then at Doc.

"F-f-f-" the bartender stuttered. Connor put his hand up, looking at his brother again, then back at the stranger.

"Aye," he said. "Haven't seen you around here before." This was an Irish neighborhood. They knew everyone.

Derek looked back and shrugged. "That's cos I've never been here before." He gave a courteous nod at the old bartender. "Just a beer, please."

"You're a smart ass aren't ya?" Murphy said it with a heavy brogue, eyes narrowing on the stranger. He smacked his brother's thigh with the back of his hand.

Murphy always did get to the heart of the issue. Connor grinned, then gave Doc a nod.

The old man drew the beer and instead of taking it to the stranger, handed it to Connor. "Fuck! Ass!"

Laughing aloud, Connor stood up, a look telling Murph to follow, and he headed to the stranger's table.

The McManus boys pulled out chairs sat in unison and the beer was set on the table. Two sets of eyes watched the stranger. The bar was still silent.

"I hope he didn't mean me." Derek took the beer with a nod of thanks, using it to point to the bartender. "He's not exactly my type." He took a deep drink, eyes on the boys.

Murphy grinned at Connor. "See? Smart ass." Then to the tough guy. "We happen to like smart asses."

"Eh, brother." Connor shrugged, watching the stranger. "He's not Irish." And he wasn't known. Two strikes. They liked smart asses, sure. But they also liked people they could trust.

Murphy cocked his head at the man. "You 'eard 'im. You're not Irish."

Derek raised a brow. "I'm from California." As if either one of those statements made any sense. He kept staring, the glock hidden against his back, under his shirt, felt heavy, weighted.

"Ooh, California." Sarcasm thick, Connor turned then to Murphy. "He's from _California,_ brother." Only fags came from California. "I hear they have an _ocean_ in California."

"Yeah … with a beach attached. It's got real sand, too." Derek continued to take swigs of his beer. "Not a whole lot of Irish there. Mostly blondes." And Hispanics, but he wasn't going to say that.

"Is it like that lifeguard show, man?" Murphy asked. "You know, guys and gals with big chests holding that red thingamabob when they run on the beach?" He leaned closer, eyeing the guy in front of them, his knee bumping against Connor's. There was something about this guy but Murphy wasn't sure if it was good or bad yet.

"Oh, fuck, that's right!" Connor crowed. "That fuckin' - with the slow motion - where they run - oh, fuck!" He was laughing hard, though Murph would know he wasn't letting his guard down. "With the tits!"

"They _all_ had tits!" Murphy was laughing just as hard, too.

Derek watched as the two - brothers, the other said - moved so much alike only … well, they moved like mirror images of each other. Fucking weird.

"... and not all of them are real." Derek couldn't help it. He smirked, one side of his lips lifting just slightly. "Men and women." He downed the rest of his drink and placed the glass back on the table with a clunk.

"Fake tits!" Connor shouted, gesturing for someone to bring a round of drinks to the table - whiskey, not beer. "Fuckin' California." No thanks! "What the fuck you doin' here, then?," he asked, still grinning, eyes narrowed.

It wasn't as if Derek could tell these guys that he was following a lead. These people had no idea about Skynet and the fate of the future.

"Tourist," Derek answered. It was the best way to get anyone off his tail. "Heard the chowder's good here … and the beer."

Just then, another round was placed on the table.

A tourist. In the most Irish part of the city. Connor and Murphy shared another look. Glasses were passed out. "Lui non sta dicendo la verità," he said to his brother, eyes on the stranger's face. "Perché pensate che lui è davvero qui?"

"Penso che sia qualcosa dopo." His voice was low as he looked back at Connor. "O qualcuno." Murphy's eyes were almost slits as he looked at the man, trying to read into the eyes in front of him. "Non riesco a decidere se è penale ma sicuro come l'inferno assomiglia."

But he didn't look like Mob. No stupid wop, or some greasy spic or even an idiot Russian. But Murph was right. There was something about this guy Connor just didn't trust. He gestured at the untouched shot. "Chun do shláinte."

Derek had no idea what they men were saying but he didn't like it. It was more reason to be cautious although he knew in his gut that there weren't the men he was looking for. He hoped, though, that they could lead him there.

"Cheers."

"Gártha dúirt sé," Murphy grinned and it looked smug as he raised his glass and clinked it with the man and then his brother's glass. He took the drink in one gulp and both he and Connor put their shot glasses down at the same time. "So … what's your name, huh?"

As Murphy and the guy - they got a name: Kyle, but Connor was pretty sure it wasn't the guy's real name - he gestured for more drinks. One way to deal with this that the Irish excelled at. Drinking and lots of it.

A few hours passed like that until the bar was empty save the brothers, Kyle and Doc. Lots of shots had been consumed, the table littered with glasses and bottles. Connor was slouched in his chair, arm laced over the back, knee pressed to his brother's. "That fuckin' Charlie Bronson, man. That fuckin' - did you ever see Death Wish? Right?" Murphy got an elbow in the ribs. "Right?"

"Fucker!" Murphy pushed Connor away and then he rubbed at his side. "He doesn't look like he'd seen many movies, this one," he pointed at Kyle who looked back with that stoic expression still on his face. His eyes were already glassy, though. Guy was drunk.

"You're right. I haven't." It was hard to watch any movies when none of them existed past Judgement day. "I was more outdoors and into sports." He shrugged, looking up at the old man still there behind the bar. "Does he ever sleep?"

"Who, Doc?" Connor turned around to grin at the old guy. "Naaaah." And he broke out in a chortle again, if only to get the Doc stuttering, blurting out a "Fuck!" and an "Ass!" Enough to send both McManus boys into gales of laughter.

Derek didn't get these two. They made fun on people, but weren't condemned for it. It was like they had no care in the world with no one to answer to. He wondered briefly if he and Kyle would have been like them if, well, none of the shit happened. Maybe they would have laughed a bit more, too.

"Fuck," Connor wheezed, rubbing at his eyes, leaning shoulder to shoulder against his brother. He held up his glass and gestured at Kyle. "So. how's your visit so far?" Tourist, his brother's tight ass.

"I saw Fenway." Yeah. He passed by it on the way to look for this area. Derek was already blinking slowly, his movements still sure but slower. He really shouldn't have had this drinking binge with these Irish; damn guys could drink a keg like it was water, he bet. "That's about it … so far. I'm looking for someone who's good with computers -- robotics. Heard there was one around here. I'm an animatronic fan."

Bull-shit. Murphy gave Connor a look before turning back to Kyle. "Fuck you," he said evenly. "The hell do you want with robots and shit. This isn't Star _fucking_ Wars." Who the hell did this guy think he was fooling here? "This is _Boston_."

Trust Murph to get to the heart of the matter. Connor grinned over aft his brother. "Maybe he likes model aeroplanes, brother." He mimicked a plane with his hands, ending by buzzing his fingers right by Murph's nose, laughing high and hard. What? It was funny.

Murphy slapped Connor's hand away. "He said robots though," he added with a smirk, finger pointing at Kyle. "Maybe he's got a kink, eh? I say you got a kink …"

"Shut the fuck up." After everything the damn tin cans did to them … fuck _NO_. Derek's mind wandered over to John, and that fucking hunk of metal he kept as protector and the many times he'd seen the way John looked at Cameron. God damned piece of Coltan needed to be melted down and turned into fucking silverware or some shit.

"Don't tell my brother to shut up, asshole." With that, Connor lumbered to his feet, hand on the table to brace himself other hand used to point with emphasis. "You're a stranger in this place. I'd advise you to travel lightly. You never know what hell might rain down from above." The tattoo on his left hand was obvious. _Veritas_. Truth.

"Aw. Now you've gone and got Connor mad." Murphy sing-songed, palms on the table to push himself to his feet. Derek could see his tattoo, too, opposite his brother's and the words on both burned an image in his brain.

 _Veritas. Aequitas_ Truth and justice.

Who the fuck were these people?

Doc could see trouble coming a mile away no matter how blurred his eyesight was already. He ambled toward the group. "I think you need to make like a tree and get the fuck out o' here."

Derek glanced at the faces looking right back at him and he knew he couldn't burn this bridge. These people were deep in the bowels of South Boston and he may not need them now, but he might later. He hung his head and shook it. "Look. I'm wasn't being an ass …" He was always an ass. Ask John. "I'm here on," a pause, "business, too. Just need to find some guy who's into that shit. It could cost me my job." More like their lives. He looked at the brothers, meeting their stares.

Business. Sounded like the Mob. Connor didn't like the sound of that. "What kinda business?" He asked, "kinky business?" He snorted at his brother.

"Aye, that's a good one," Murphy mumbled, pointing at his brother.

"We went over that already," came Derek's impatient answer. He was a man of action, not words. He didn't like having to appease these people but it was, to him, a necessary evil. "It's engineering. Technology. My boss wants to learn more about such machines." And how to defeat them.

"Such machines, he says," Connor said. "Robots and machines, he says." They didn't even have a cell phone. Didn't believe in them. "Think you're on the wrong side of town for that kinda thing, Kyle. Sorry to say." He leaned an elbow on Murphy's shoulder, letting his brother support his weight.

Derek nodded very slowly. "Alright." He stood up and wavered just a bit. "I'll be back. I'm not gonna take your word for it - no offense." He pulled bills out of his pocket and slapped them on the table before offering his hand to the brothers, to whomever wanted to take it.

Murphy looked at Connor then Kyle's hand and then he took it, squeezing as he shook it. "Watch your back there, lad. Not everyone's gonna take kindly to you pokin' around where your nose don't belong, eh?" Robots. Tourist. _Kyle_. The fuck was he trying to hide?

"Aye." Good advice.

Connor and Murphy watched Kyle leave and when the door shut behind them, Connor turned to look at his brother, nose practically to Murphy's cheek. "Don't think Kyle's his real name, eh, Murph?"

"I don't think he's out to hurt anyone either," Murphy was nodding. "Until he gets close to what he's lookin' for, at least." He was someone to watch out for, that was sure. Sighing, Murphy leaned against Connor, both of them supporting each other's weight. "And I saw you looking at his ass …" He wrapped a strong arm around Connor's neck and wrestled with him. "... you fucking fag."

"Fuck you!" Connor got an arm around Murphy's neck and push-pulled until he could get his brother under him, then he shoved him, still in a neckhold, toward the door. "Night, Doc!"

"Fuck -! Ass - !"

At their place, he finally let Murph go, sending him sprawling into the room. "Think it was you who was looking at his ass!" And he launched himself at his brother, both of them sprawling on the floor.

"I'm not the one obsessing over an ass, you ass!" The two scrambled on the floor, Murphy pinned until he could push and heave Connor off of him. Panting, he managed to straddle his brother's thighs, laughing triumphantly. "Just admit it for Christ's sake. You're an ass man."

"Fuck _you!_ " Connor pushed and shoved, but Murphy was a wiry fucking bastard and not easy to tip. That was one thing Connor knew drunk or sober. Finally, he gave up, wheezing. "You just gonna sit on me all night? Cuz fuck if I'm admitting that." He thrust up with a shit-eating grin, fingers digging into Murphy's thighs. His brother knew the truth like no one else did.

Connor might not admit it in words but what's been going on under his seat was surely indication enough that Murphy was, of course, right. And just to stress that fact, he pressed down and rocked his hips. "I just might, ya know? Kinda comfy up here. And I kind of like looking down at you." He smirked and did that hip-rocking thing again.

"Fuck you," Connor said again, a little more hoarsely, it had to be admitted. Comfy. With some pulling and pushing, he could get his hands around his brother's wrists, but he didn't work to unseat him. Comfy. Bastard. At least they weren't talking about fucking robots anymore.

When the hotel door opened, John was on his feet, gun in hand, but not drawn. "Where the hell have you been?! You said you'd be back and that was hours ago. God, Derek!"

Shit. The room was fucking moving. But all Derek had to do was blink a few times and slowly before he was able to focus on John. "I'm trying to find Skynet." Or whoever the hell it was trying to build a damn robot. He slammed the door a little too loudly, leaning heavily against it so that he could deadbolt it, chain and locked -- done. Derek pushed off the door and stumbled toward John. "Honey, I'm home …" He smirked.

"You're such a jerk." John straight-armed him toward one of the double beds. "Where the hell did you look? At the bottom of a booze bottle? You reek." When Derek plonked down on the bed, John slid the gun back into the back of his jeans and looked down at him. " … well?"

"The place is called McGinty's and there be nothin' but Irish folk there." Derek chuckled, imitating the accent. He thought he did pretty good. He laid down with a groan, arms stretched out and legs hanging down the side of the bed. "Couple of people might know something …" At least, that was what he suspected.

"Really?" John's nose wrinkled. "Don't do that accent again. That was terrible. What do they know?" As he asked he fished the gun from under Derek; it had to be uncomfortable, faces close together. "You smell like a distillery."

"Fine," he had to roll anyway to have John pull his gun out of his back. Derek was moving like molasses in winter, grunting when he finally ended up practically lying on John's lap. "... I'll shower. Just give me a sec." The room was still spinning but give Derek a little credit. He was trying to get his feet on the ground even if his body still didn't want to move.

It was a lost cause. John rolled Derek back to his back and started to pull off his boots and socks. They'd share intel in the morning. If there was even any to share.

There were advantages to being Irish. The ability to drink like a fish and not get sick was one of them. Connor lay back, arms spread, staring blissfully at the ceiling, a warm body still over his. "What do you think that Kyle wanted?" He asked.

"Oh, I dunno," Murph sing-songed, "maybe a robot?" He pushed off of Connor slowly, hissing a soft breath when their bodies slid apart. He sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed his shirt, sniffing before slipping it over his head, stretching his arms out straight to get into the sleeves. "I think he's dangerous." He wasn't sure if Kyle or whatever-the-fuck his name was a bad guy or not yet. But he had a feeling the man was dangerous. Like he wouldn't think twice to kill someone.

Kind of like them.

"Aye," Connor agreed. He reached for the cigarettes to light two. They'd get a sign if there was anything that needed doing. He handed Murph a lit cigarette, not moving otherwise but to gesture for his brother to come back to bed. Morning would come soon enough.


End file.
